


Your Fingertips, So Touchable

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Massages, bubble baths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Liam gets upset, he tends to retreat into himself. Zayn helps him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Fingertips, So Touchable

It’s pretty easy to assume that Zayn is the moody one. It’s not like he ever tries to hide his discomfort and annoyance when he feels it. In an interview, out on the streets, when they’re in the recording studio and Harry’s too busy trying to make Louis laugh to actually do his fucking _job_ , you’ll know when Zayn’s upset.

But Zayn’s moods are fleeting. They come and go. One minute he’ll snap at Louis for being too loud, and the next he’ll be out of his seat, dancing around with Niall, or jumping into Liam’s lap and petting his new hair -- he likes the feel of the short bristles under his fingers, even if he prefers it longer.

But Zayn is not, in fact, the moody one. The next assumption would be Harry, right? He’s definitely got a good broody face, but Harry’s more emotional than moody. He’s the type of person who gets drunk and cries and tells you over and over again just how much he, “Really, really love you guys. So much. Like, I just love you guys more than anyone can love anyone, you know? So much.”

Louis is a snappy person. He’s kind of like Zayn in the sense that, if you’ve pissed him off, you _definitely_ know. But Louis tends to just glare at you and judge you with his cold eyes for a few minutes before he gets distracted by something Harry’s said, and he gets over it.

Then you’re down to Niall and Liam. It’s got to be Niall, the moody one, right? If it’s not Zayn or Louis or Harry, it’s Niall, because it can’t be _Liam_. But most of Niall’s feelings are on the surface. It takes a lot to irritate him, to make him genuinely upset, and when you _do_ , he’s more likely to talk it out with you, instead of sitting on it and brewing up a storm of anger.

No, the moody one is _definitely_ Liam. Because, see, Zayn knows Liam enough, knows him possibly better than any of the other boys, and he knows that Liam is the kind of person to hold everything in. He won’t snap at Louis when Louis makes a joke about how boring his wardrobe is; he won’t yell at Harry for dumping an entire glass of juice on his clean beige pants; he won’t glare at Niall for talking through a whole movie, or at Zayn for cutting him off in an interview.

Liam takes all these things in stride, with a smile on his face and warmth in his eyes, bottles them up over time and then, every couple of weeks, he snaps.

The first time it happened, everyone was a bit surprised. They were too busy during the Xfactor, worrying about their next performance, and whether they’d be sent home, for it to happen then. It was during the following tour, when they spent every waking minute together, that it happened.

Liam just… shut down. There’s really no other word for it. Harry would try to talk to him, and Liam would just put his headphones in and ignore him. They’d invite him to dinner, but Liam would point blank refuse and slam his door in the face of anyone who dared to knock on it.

It continued like that for three days until, finally, Liam apologized to everyone for his mood. Everyone was a bit stunned, but Harry was the first one to speak, with a quick, “Don’t worry about it, Liam. Everyone has those days.”

“Or week,” Louis had put in with a roll of his eyes. Louis forgave you when he _wanted_ to, not when you apologized.

“Just talk to us next time,” Zayn had said, much quieter, mostly because Liam’s absence had hit him the hardest. That was when Zayn really started to realize just how much he relied on Liam’s warm smile and comforting touches. When they were no longer there.

“Thanks,” Liam had said right back, and then there was that warm touch, this time on his shoulder, and Zayn forgave him instantly.

It happened again, though. After their tour, when they started doing interviews every couple of days, and they lived in the same building. They’d hang out all the time, back then. Go to dinner, or lunch. Hang out on Harry and Louis’ couch and watch shitty reality shows while Louis bitched about everything.

Zayn can’t remember exactly what triggered it that time, either, but one day Liam was sitting on the couch between him and Niall, and the next he wouldn’t answer his phone. Or his door. They only saw him during interviews, and even then his mood was obvious. He was twitchy and distant, and instead of covering most of the questions, like he usually did -- like they _counted_ on him to do, because God forbid anyone let Harry answer a simple question, they’d be there all day; and Louis can’t be trusted to talk for more than a minute straight, lest he say something extremely inappropriate and/or rude--, he was just quiet. When someone directly asked him a question, he’d answer it as simply as he could, and then he’d cross his arms over his chest, letting everyone know that he wasn’t going to say anything more.

After the interview, he’d take his own car home, and he’d lock himself in his apartment again, coming out only when he absolutely had to. That time, it lasted a bit longer. Over a week passed before Liam was knocking on Louis’ door and hesitantly asking to be let in.

Thankfully, Harry had been the one to answer, and he welcomed him back with open arms. Niall didn’t even react at all, except for the slight shift in his seat, so there’d be room for Liam on the couch. Louis had glared at him for a solid five minutes before sighing and saying, “Glad you’re back, Payne.”

Zayn had just thrown an arm over Liam’s shoulder and hugged him close, wishing that next time Liam disappeared, he’d take Zayn with him, because life without Liam wasn’t the same.

Eventually everyone just got used to it, though, Liam’s moods. They didn’t happen often enough for them to be an issue and, at some point, everyone started to clue in that it was how Liam dealt with everything, including them. It just wasn’t in Liam’s nature to shout at them or tell them to fuck off, to throw things or slam doors or even shove them -- like Louis and Zayn are prone to do, if you’ve _really_ upset them. Even when he’s upset, Liam is reserved and more level-headed, which is why instead of blowing up at them, he just retreats into himself until he’s calmed down.

They might not be able to predict them, but everyone’s kind of just learned to deal with it. On those days -- or weeks-- Niall picks up the slack during interviews, Louis takes Liam’s place on the couch, Harry struggles to keep them all from falling apart without Liam there to be the responsible one. They’ve all learned to just move on with their lives and then make room for Liam when he comes back again.

Except Zayn, really. He has a bit more of an issue closing the hole that Liam leaves when he’s gone. He hates when it’s Louis beside him on the couch, smelling of a sharper cologne and whatever girly shampoo Harry buys. He hates looking at Liam in interviews and getting only a half-assed smile back, instead of the warm one he usually gets.

So he point blank refuses to let Liam shut him out anymore. Liam hides out in his apartment? Zayn knocks insistently on the door until he’s let in; Liam will sit on the couch and stare blankly at the screen, and Zayn will let him, as long as Liam doesn’t kick him out. He’ll throw an arm over Liam’s shoulder during an interview, and kiss him sloppily on the cheek until Liam has no choice but to giggle because, really, “You’re such a weirdo sometimes, Malik.”

And, in the few years they’ve been together, Zayn’s learned how to pull Liam out of his dark moods.

-

This time, at least, they see it coming. Harry and Liam might seem vastly different, most of the time, but there’s one thing they share: they’re both perfectionists when it comes to their job. Not the interview parts, or the signings, but when it comes to performing, they have to get it right. And Liam screwed up.

It’s the second show of their Take Me Home tour, and Liam screws up a big part of Rock Me, and then afterwards blurts, “Shit,” right into the microphone. Of course, there will be backlash for that. They know that a lot of their fans are younger girls, and their parents aren’t exactly going to be pleased that their twelve year old daughter’s idol yells shit during one of his concerts.

No one blames him, though. It’s not like they all haven’t fucked up many times. Except, when it’s Louis, or Niall, or Zayn, they get over it, move on. Harry will spend the rest of the concert smiling but then, when they get backstage, he’ll fall into Louis’ arms and have a good, hard cry. Because he holds a lot of things on his shoulders, Harry. When he screws up, people make a big deal of it in a way that they don’t when it’s one of the others.

And Liam carries that same weight on his shoulders, but not because he has to. Liam wasn’t appointed the front man, like Harry. He _chose_ to be the collected, together one, because Liam has control issues, and if things aren’t being done properly, he’ll sure as fuck step in and make sure that they are. He sets standards for himself that no one else would ever expect of him, and if he doesn’t meet them, he gets frustrated and upset.

When they head back to their hotel rooms later that night -- they’re staying in New York for another two nights--, Liam walks briskly into the building without a word to anyone else. Everyone else is celebrating, still on their post-show high, but Liam doesn’t hang back and wave to fans, or smile fondly at Louis when he squeezes his ass on his way out of the car.

“Seen it coming,” Louis says quietly, so none of the hundreds of people surrounding them can hear.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn tells him. “I got it.”

Louis nods and puts a hand on the small of Harry’s back, and he, Harry and Niall hang outside for a bit, posing for the necessary amounts of pictures and signing everything they can get their hands on. Zayn just heads through the front doors and gets straight into the elevator, heading for their floor.

He raps his knuckles on Liam’s door once, twice, three times, and then leans against it. “Liam,” he calls softly. “Let me in.”

“Not right now, Zayn, okay?” Liam snaps. He can hear Liam pacing around the room, and the occasional sound of him moving something or pulling out a chair.

“Babe,” Zayn says with a sigh. “You know I’m not walking away until you let me in.”

Liam makes a loud, frustrated sound, and then the door flies open. Zayn wasn’t expecting that, and he stumbles through the open space. Liam doesn’t apologize, or try and steady him, the way he definitely would any other time. He just crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps look even thicker than they normally do.

“What?” he demands, tapping his foot on the ground. He’s got his shirt on backwards, and one of his socks is missing. Zayn figures that, in the span of five minutes, Liam had probably gotten undressed, and then dressed again at least twice, because he’s prone to do that.

Zayn steps farther into the room and shuts the door quietly behind himself before locking it. Liam’s still just standing there, looking impatient, like he doesn’t want to stand still, and like he kinds of wants to physically remove Zayn from the room.

“It’s not a big deal, you know,” Zayn says slowly.

Liam barks out a laugh. “Not a big deal,” he repeats. “Maybe not to you, Zayn, but it is to me.”

Zayn steps forward and Liam steps back, just once, and then stands his ground, feet spread wide, like he’s expecting Zayn to push him or something. Instead, Zayn puts a hand on each of Liam’s arms and gently smoothes his fingers up and down the silky material of his button-up, over and over until Liam’s face relaxes a bit more.

“Can’t you just let me deal with this by myself?” Liam asks anyways, which isn’t surprising. It’s not _that_ easy to pull Liam back in.

“Not a chance,” Zayn says brightly. “Sorry. Can’t do it. I miss you too much when you’re not there.”

Liam snorts and pulls away to sit on the bed. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

“Not physically,” Zayn agrees.

Liam sighs in resignation. “I’m just going to end up heading to bed, Zayn, honestly. You should go.”

Zayn shakes his head and pulls at Liam’s hands, trying to get him off the bed. Liam’s heavier than he is, though, so it’s difficult when he’s not cooperating. He must get that Zayn isn’t backing down, though, because he reluctantly gets up.

“Come on,” Zayn urges, pulling Liam through the room towards the bathroom.

“What’re we doing in the bathroom?” Liam demands.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “What’s it look like? I’m running you a bath.”

“A bath,” Liam repeats flatly.

Zayn nods and gives Liam a pointed look, one that says, “Don’t even think about moving,” and then turns to the bath. Being in the worlds most popular (currently) boy band has it’s perks, and impressive hotel rooms are one of them. The bathtub is separate from the shower, and it’s huge. Definitely big enough for more than one, not that Liam would ever bath with Zayn, because he didn’t look at Zayn like that, and Zayn was okay with that. As long as he Liam didn’t mind that _Zayn_ looked at _him_ like that, he could deal with it. Not that they’ve, like, talked about it.

Zayn runs the water just shy of too hot, figuring that Liam is like him and doesn’t like it too scolding or too cool. “Wonder what they have for bubbles here,” Zayn comments, and Liam can’t help but snort a short laugh at that, which he quickly stifles. Zayn reaches around him to pull open the cupboard under the sink. Inside is a collection of extra towels, a thing of massage oil (??????) and extra shampoos and soaps. Zayn pushes them all aside until he realizes it’s empty.

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters. “Wait here. Don’t you dare lock me out, Liam.”

Liam raises his eyebrow, and he looks like he’s seriously considering doing just that. Zayn thinks he won’t actually, though, so he ducks out of the bathroom and grabs the phone on the bedside table and hits *2. Exactly two rings later, a woman picks up.

“Mr. Payne,” she says in that way that everyone tends to talk to them. Too high and polite and eager to please. “What can I do for you?”

“Bubblebath,” Zayn says simply. “Bring it up to the room. Oh, and candles.”

“I’m not taking a bubble bath, Zayn,” Liam says from the bathroom doorway. “I’m not nine years old and I’m not a teenage girl who was just dumped by her boyfriend.”

Zayn crosses his arms defiantly over his chest and Liam huffs out an annoyed breath and heads back into the bathroom. Zayn waits out in the main room until the knock on the door comes. Liam doesn’t come out again as Zayn answers it and takes the bottle of ‘Berry scented bubble bath’ according to the label, and the package of tiny tea candles.

Sure, it’s extremely cheesy and ridiculous, and Liam does have a point. He’s not a child or some emotionally distraught middle aged woman with a bottle of wine and a Cosmo magazine, looking to relax, but Zayn thinks it’ll help.

When he shuts the bathroom door behind himself, he finds Liam sitting on the toilet, arms crossed over his chest. “The tub’s about to overflow,” he comments.

It’s not, but he might want to shut it off soon, or it _is_ going to overflow when Liam gets in. He reads the back of the bottle and then adds the soap right under the spray of water. It takes only seconds for the rest of the bath to be filled to brimming with tiny soapy bubbles that smell just a bit too strongly for Zayn’s liking. Liam’s too, apparently, if his wrinkled nose is any indication.

Zayn rips open the pack of tiny candles and lines the bath with them and then pulls his lighter out of his pocket and lights them. “Right,” he says when he’s done, admiring what he’s accomplished. He kind of wants to kick Liam out of the bathroom and take the relaxing bath by himself, but he’s not going to do that. He might just steal the bottle and the rest of the candles and have his own later, though. “You can get in. I’ll be out there.”

“And if I don’t?” Liam asks.

Zayn shrugs. “Then I forcibly push you into the tub with your clothes on. It’s your choice here, Liam.”

Liam gets up and pulls his shirt over his head, instead of carefully undoing each of the buttons like he normally would. Zayn spares one glance for his smooth, muscular body -- he’s selfish, okay, and he deserves this one thing-- and then turns off the light and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.

He hears Liam get in, the soft splash of a bit of water spilling out. He also hears Liam’s content sigh, and grins to himself. He has no idea what to do, now, but he knows he’s not leaving just yet, because if he does Liam will get out and spend the rest of the night curled up in bed, and won’t answer his door at all tomorrow.

He sprawls out on Liam’s large, king sized bed and reaches for the television remote. There’s nothing good on, but he doesn’t really care because he’s too busy thinking about the fact that Liam is about ten feet away from him, naked and soaped up in a tub, and how the fuck is he supposed to pay attention to anything else knowing that?

“Zayn!” Liam calls, and Zayn jumps off the bed.

He definitely does not fantasize about Liam calling him to join him in the bath, and both of their soapy, naked bodies sliding together as Liam cards his hands through Zayn’s hair, and Zayn sucks a mark into his skin just beside his birthmark, like he’s always wanted to. He totally doesn’t picture that.

“Do you want me to come in?” Zayn asks when he gets to the door.

“Yeah, can you bring my laptop?”

Zayn frowns. What? “Why?”

“Just bring it,” Liam snaps.

Zayn shrugs and finds the laptop on the small desk pushed against the left wall. He’s not going to let Liam use it in the bath, though, because he’s pretty sure that’s dangerous or something.

He halts just outside the door, because he knows that Liam’s _naked_ in there, and while they’ve all got changed in front of each other millions of times, they always kept that last article of clothing on. “Um, just walk in?”

“Please,” Liam answers.

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment before pushing open the door. The bubbles were a great and terrible decision, because, thankfully, he can’t see more than Liam’s head and shoulders but, at the same time, he _can’t see anything but his head and shoulders_.

“Where do you want it?” Zayn asks, holding the laptop awkwardly.

“Just-- put it on the sink and put on one of my iTunes playlists. Please.” Liam speaks with his eyes closed, and he’s got his head tilted back against the ceramic of the tub. He looks relaxed, and Zayn is happy that his idea worked. “And can you pass me one of those face cloths from under the sink?”

“Pretty demanding,” Zayn mutters, but it’s light-hearted, because he’s just happy that Liam didn’t kick him out a while ago.

Zayn opens Liam’s computer and looks through his playlists. He’s got so many it’s ridiculous, and they’ve all got stupid names, like, ‘Workout’ and ‘workout 2’ and ‘another workout playlist’. Zayn snorts and scrolls through them until he gets to the end, and he finds one that’s titled ‘Zayn’. He frowns at it and clicks it, looking over his shoulder first to see if Liam’s opened his eyes. He hasn’t.

Inside there’s about three hundred songs. He recognizes nearly each and every one, mostly because he knows they’re all songs he’s either sung with Liam, or told Liam to check out. There are a few, though, that he knows he’s never told Liam to listen to, or sung with him. Like the new Usher song he’s been humming under his breath a few days ago.

Zayn quickly scrolls through the other playlists, looking for another one that’s titled with a name. There isn’t any, though. Just his. He looks over his shoulder once more and then puts on ‘bedtime 2’ and Liam makes a content noise as one of Ed Sheeran’s songs starts playing.

“Cloth?” Liam asks.

“Right,” Zayn nods and reaches under the sink. He grabs out one of the cloths and then, without even thinking about it, he grabs the bottle of massage oil and pockets it. He hands the towel off to Liam, who doesn’t even open his eyes to get it. He just blindly reaches out until he grabs it and then covers his eyes with it.

“Thanks, Zayn,” Liam says softly.

“No problem,” Zayn tells him before exiting the bathroom again.

He falls back onto Liam’s bed but this time he turns off the television and just listens to the sound of Liam’s music filtering through the door. They’re all slower, softer songs, and he pulls the bottle of massage oil out of his pocket. It’s small, and he turns it in his fingers over and over again, creating little bubbles in the oil.

He could offer, right? That wouldn’t be weird. Liam obviously needed to relax, and people got massages to relax all the time. Hell, Harry got one weekly -- which, okay, they all teased him about, but still-- and Zayn had gotten one once. It was nice. And it wasn’t like it was sexual or anything. He’s pretty sure the woman who gave him his massage had been at least forty.

He contemplates this for a while, while Liam continues to relax in the bath. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but Louis’ texted him four times, and Niall’s texted him twice, and Harry sent one single text that just said ‘ _Liam? : ((((((((((((??_ ’, all of which Zayn ignored.

After what feels like hours -- which actually could have been, because Zayn’s pretty sure he dozed off twice--, he hears the sound of Liam moving around, the quiet slosh of water and then the thump of his feet hitting the ground. He comes out of the bathroom in a bathrobe a moment later, and Zayn can see his black boxers peaking out underneath it.

“You’re still here,” Liam says without emotion. Zayn can’t tell if he thinks that’s a good thing, or if he’s annoyed, but he chooses to go with the first one.

“Not leaving,” he says, smiling brightly to make up for Liam’s disinterested look.

“Of course you’re not,” Liam retorts. “Do you plan on staying the night, then?”

Zayn tries really hard not to imagine the double meaning in that, because he knows there isn’t one. “If you want me to.”

“Oh, really?” Liam says, voice laces with sarcasm. “You’re actually giving me a choice now? Wow, thank you for the consideration, Zayn.”

“Don’t be a prick,” Zayn says, sitting up. “Hey, um, I was thinking--,”

“Really.”

Zayn narrows his eyes, because he’s starting to get a bit annoyed now. Liam doesn’t have to be _completely_ uncooperative. “Whatever,” he says, brushing it off. “Just take that thing off and lay down, Liam.”

Liam blinks at him and Zayn watches his fingers twitch towards the belt holding the bathrobe on, but he doesn’t move. “What?”

“Off,” Zayn orders. “And then lay down. On your stomach.”

Liam looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. “I don’t think--,”

“Liam,” Zayn snaps. “Do you trust me or not?”

Liam chews the inside of his lip and Zayn is fully expecting a very loud, “No.” Instead, Liam just sighs and undoes his bathrobe. Zayn does not let his eyes move from Liam’s face, but it’s kind of hard not to still notice the expanse of tanned skin suddenly showing, and the fact that his briefs leave little the imagination.

“On my stomach?” Liam questions, already heading towards the bed.

Zayn gets up and nods, and Liam spreads himself out flat on the bed and then lifts his head to look at Zayn which, really? Just really? The universe definitely hates him, because the picture before him is practically obscene, the way Liam’s back dips lower near his ass, and his briefs cover said ass.

“How is this supposed to help?” Liam asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Zayn tells him.

Liam snorts and pulls a pillow over to tuck under his chin, and Zayn climbs onto the bed. Liam has a great back. It’s all solid muscles and wide shoulders and the sharp bones of his shoulder blades.

And how is he supposed to do this, exactly? Massage beds are specifically designed so you can just move around beside it, but there’s no way Zayn can stand beside the bed and do this. In the end, he decides to just sit beside Liam’s left side, legs crossed. He pops the lid on the massage oil and slicks up his fingers. It’s not as gross feeling as normal oil, and it smells faintly like lavender, and lavender is supposed to be relaxing, right?

“What’re you doing?” Liam asks, but he doesn’t lift his head to check. He’s got his face buried in the pillow and his words slur a bit because of it.

“Shut up,” Zayn repeats, because he’s trying to be calm about this whole thing, and he really needs Liam to be quiet if he’s going to manage that.

Bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Zayn hesitantly slides his hands down Liam’s back. Liam jerks at the touch, jostling him, but Zayn just lifts his hands for a moment and then, when Liam doesn’t tell him to fuck off, or demand to know that the fuck he’s doing, Zayn puts his hands back on him.

The oil makes Liam’s skin feel even smoother than usual. Experimentally, he digs his palms into Liam’s shoulders a bit, not too hard, and Liam lets out a low breath that Zayn figures is a good sign. He honestly has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, but the more he digs his fingers or palms into Liam’s skin, the more content sounds he makes, so he’s got to be doing _something_ right, he thinks.

“Do you mind if I--,” Zayn can’t even get the whole question out, but he’s already leaning up on his knees, and Liam just answers with, “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Fuck, okay. He can do this. Zayn moves so that he’s kneeling over Liam, one leg on each side of him. He puts his hands on Liam’s back to steady himself, and prays that he doesn’t get a boner because, really, that would just not be helpful right now. That is _not_ what this is about. He’s trying to help out a friend, not-- whatever it is his dick thinks is going to happen.

When he’s calmed down a bit, and steadied himself, he slides his hands over Liam’s skin again. He falls forward a bit on one hand, pressing in a bit harder. Liam groans but it isn’t a _bad_ groan, so he does it with the other hand, too. Then he moves down a bit more, just kneading at the skin of Liam’s back sometimes, putting more pressure on it at others.

When Liam lets out a shaky, “Bit lower?” Zayn hesitate, but only for a moment.

“Okay,” he agrees, moving his hands down, over Liam’s sides, to the small of his back. He pushes in with his palms once again, and Liam let’s out another sigh.

“Do you mind if I turn over?” Liam asks after another minute or so. “My abs have been killing me since that workout this morning.”

Zayn slides off Liam without a word, and Liam turns over. He throws an arm over his face and then leaves Zayn to it. Zayn takes a moment to really admire him -- the planes of his chest, the faint indents of his stomach muscles, the sharp lines of his hips that disappear under the waistband of his briefs-- and then grabs for the bottle of oil to slick up his hands once more.

He starts out sitting beside Liam again, and first works the oil into the skin of his chest, because it’s a bit safer than going lower. Until, of course, he rubs his hands over Liam’s nipples, and they harden instantly. Zayn swallows and looks at Liam’s face for any sort of reaction. He can’t see his eyes, because of his stupid arm, but his expression doesn’t change at all.

“You can-- like before,” Liam says, waving at his hip area.

He doesn’t have to explain. Zayn gets what he’s saying, he’s just not sure if that’s a good idea. This is getting into dangerous territory, and he definitely, _definitely_ shouldn’t. But then he’d have to come up with an excuse as to why he couldn’t, and that’d be just as awkward, right?

Fuck it. Zayn straddles Liam’s hips. He pointedly does not think about the fact that there’s only his jeans and the thin, clingy material of Liam’s briefs separating them. He slides his hands down Liam’s chest again, leaving slick oil in their wake. He runs his finger tips over Liam’s ribs and the sigh he lets out at that could almost be considered a moan. Almost.

He’s more careful with Liam’s stomach than he had been with his back, never pushing in too hard. He grips both of Liam’s hips and _that’s_ when he puts a bit more pressure on him.

This time, when Liam asks quietly, “A bit lower?” Zayn nearly dies. He’s, like, 90% sure he’s having a mini heart attack, because there’s no way there’s anything healthy about how hard his heart is hammering in his chest.

The thing is, he can’t _go_ lower. His hands are only about an inch away from the waistband of Liam’s briefs. But he complies, moving his hands down just a bit more. He gets oil on Liam’s briefs but then, that’s Liam’s fault, not his own. And, because he can’t help it, he slides a slick finger over the skin just above his waistband, from one hipbone to the other.

Liam’s breathing is shakier, and he lifts the arm off his face and looks up at Zayn with wide eyes. His pupils are blown wide, too, and fuck, the things running through Zayn’s mind at the sight of that are not appropriate at all, especially when he’s literally _sitting on top of_ Liam.

Zayn moves his hands up Liam’s chest, and then back down again, letting his palms push at the material of Liam’s briefs just a bit before sliding them back up. Liam’s stomach muscles really should be oiled at all times, but Zayn can’t really pay much attention to them, because he’s too busy holding Liam’s gaze as he smoothes his hands over Liam’s skin.

He can feel the tension in the air. He’s honestly surprised the hair on his arms isn’t standing up because the room suddenly feels electric. He’s not even massaging Liam now, he’s just sliding his hands up and down his chest, moving them lower each time, while Liam’s breathing gets heavier as he goes.

He needs to get off him, he knows. It’s like there’s an elastic band connecting him and Liam, one that’s pulled too tight. Either one of them needs to move and release a bit of the tension on it, or it’s going to snap.

He doesn’t, though. He just keeps sliding his hands over Liam’s slick skin, finger nails digging in every once in a while. He is acutely aware of the fact that Liam is hard, and he’s straining against his own jeans, too, but neither of them are doing anything about that. Zayn’s not exactly sure if he _can_ do something about it, if he's _allowed_ to. In fact, he’s waiting for Liam to shove him off and kick him out.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, Liam sits up, roughly tangles his hands in Zayn’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss. Zayn was right about that elastic band, because it fucking _snaps_ the second their lips touch, and Liam tugs painfully hard on his hair, but Zayn retaliates by scratching his nails into Liam’s chest and biting on his lip.

Liam’s hands drop from his hair to his sides, and he insistently tugs at Zayn’s shirt until Zayn pulls away from his lips -- rather reluctantly, because they’re soft and he tastes slightly sweet-- to get it off. If he thought Liam’s chest felt good under his fingertips, it’s nothing compared to the way it feels pressed against his own.

Liam’s holding himself up with one arm, and the other is wrapped around Zayn’s back, holding them together. Zayn pushes his tongue into Liam’s mouth, wanting more of that faintly sweet taste. It’s like cherries, he realizes as his tongue brushes against Liam’s. Fuck if Zayn doesn’t have a new favourite fruit, but that’s really not important because Liam’s lifting his hips just a bit, grinding their groins together, and Zayn’s head is swimming.

Their lips are too slick for them to really be kissing anymore. It’s more of a brushing of skin against skin, but Zayn doesn’t mind. And he doesn’t mind when Liam’s nails dig into his back, either. He ducks his head into the crook of Liam’s neck and bites at his collarbone before sucking on it. When he pulls back, there’s a red mark there that he _knows_ is going to be noticeable for the next couple days. He’s pleased.

“How-- how much of that oil do you have left?” Liam gasps against his shoulder.

Zayn pulls back, using his grip on Liam’s shoulders to stop himself from falling. “I-- half a bottle, why?” he asks, and he’s far more breathless than he’d like to be.

Without warning, Liam flips them over so Zayn’s laying flat against the mattress, with Liam’s arms barricading him in. He’s waiting for Liam to press their lips together again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses down Zayn’s chest while holding his gaze, and fuck if that wasn’t that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

When he gets to Zayn’s jeans he breaks eye contact to undo them quickly, and then Zayn’s arching off the bed so Liam can tug them off. Liam’s much bolder than Zayn dared to be, because he’s pulling off Zayn’s boxers next without a second thought.

Liam looks around for a moment for the bottle of oil and finds it laying on the bedside table, knocked onto it’s side but, thankfully, the lid is on, so it didn’t spill everywhere. There’s a lot left, and Liam squeezes a bit onto his hands before wrapping his hands around Zayn’s cock.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, fingers curling into the comforter. It’s messed up because of their movements, half of it hanging off the bed. Zayn could care less if it fell to the floor or even combusted into flames, really, because Liam’s fisting him with a slick hand and a just tight enough grip and nothing else in the world is important at that moment. Seriously. The entire building could come crashing down and he wouldn’t give a fuck, as long as Liam kept touching him.

“God, you look--,” Liam starts, eyes wide, flitting between Zayn’s face and his cock, but Zayn just shakes his head and grabs Liam’s arm to tugs him upwards.

“Come here,” Zayn gasps out. “I want--,”

Liam nods and moves so that he’s laying next to Zayn. He manages to keep his hand on Zayn the whole time, too. When he’s close enough, Zayn palms Liam through his briefs, feeling the length of him. He tugs them down a moment later, and Liam has to let go of him to kick them off, which he does _not_ whimper because of. He doesn’t. Whatever.

He curls his hand around Liam’s cock while Liam returns his own slicked fingers to Zayn’s, and Zayn’s thoughts get scattered. There’s a lot of panting into each other’s mouths, and Zayn tells Liam how fucking beautiful he is, because he really is. Liam’s eyes fall closed and his head falls back against the bed, but Zayn keeps his own open, watching him. Liam let’s out quiet, delicious gasps when Zayn twists his wrist just right, or tightens his grip a bit. Zayn is all loud, unabashed moans, but Liam tries a lot harder to stay quiet. He bites down hard on his own lip, and his eyes aren’t just closed; they’re _squeezed_ closed.

It’s stiflingly hot in the room, and Zayn’s skin is glistening just like Liam’s, but from sweat instead of the oil. Liam is heavy in his hand, and Zayn’s trying his best to hold off and not come first, because for some reason he needs to see Liam let go before he does.

And he does, not long after, with a quiet groan and a tightening of his stomach. His grip on Zayn goes slack and so does his face, his eyes no longer scrunched shut. He’s panting, too, and Zayn just kisses him through it, until his own need wins out and he lets out a quiet, “Come on, Li.”

It’s different, now that Liam’s already gone, because instead of focusing on getting Zayn off and on Zayn getting him off, all the focus is on Zayn only. He uses his freehand to brush Zayn’s hair off his forehead, and then he runs his fingers over Zayn’s ribs, the sides of his thighs, the indents of his hips, like he’s memorizing every inch of him. And Zayn can’t do anything but lay there and pant into Liam’s shoulder until the tightening in his stomach gets to be too much and he comes over Liam’s fingers while biting down hard on Liam’s skin.

Liam falls back against the bed and they both stare at the ceiling. Zayn notes that Liam’s laptop is still playing music softly from the bathroom. He hadn’t even noticed.

The atmosphere in the room has changed again, and Zayn knows that they’ve changed, too, because best friends don’t just get each other off like that. And Zayn doesn’t think anyone else’s fingertips burned against his skin the way Liam’s did, or that anyone else kissed him so roughly and touched him so gently.

He knows that one of them needs to say something, too, and he lets Liam off the hook by being the one to speak first. “Told you it would help.”

And Liam turns to him with a steady gaze for a long moment before erupting in a laugh that Zayn can’t help but join in on. Liam has one of those laughs, the kind that come from the stomach and really mean something, because they’re so genuine.

And the next time Liam gets into one of his moods, he opens the door to Zayn without question, and Zayn kisses him until he’s happy again.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be some bath filled fluff. I honestly have no idea how the rest of this happened.
> 
> (seriously guys this always happens to me? I go to write a short, light, 1000 word fic and somehow it turns into something that I never intended to happen. Always. Damn it. Maybe one day I will learn the definition of 'drabble' but that day is not today. And it's probably not tomorrow, either.)


End file.
